


A Many Fragmented Thing

by highhopes (downuptime)



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-14 02:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7995457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downuptime/pseuds/highhopes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 3x23. </p><p>  <em>There had been a time when Liz had been an glass-half-full optimistic kind of person. </em></p><p>  <em>That was Before.</em></p><p>Liz faces the consequences of her actions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am but only a guest player in this glorious universe created by Jon Bokenkamp and NBC. 
> 
> Please note that this is a gen fic, though you can probably view it through Red/Liz tinted glasses if you wish to do so.

There had been a time when Liz had been an glass-half-full optimistic kind of person.

That was Before.

— 

She doesn’t know how it all comes to this, but it does.

She shoots her father.

Again.

And again.

Two shots to the chest.

This time, it sticks.

—

It takes her a while, but she finally finds it in herself to go to Bethesda.

However, she is met by empty shelves and white sheets draped over unused furniture. Fingers swiped on countertops and tables pick up thick layers of dust. They dance in the sunlight.

It is Aram, sweet Aram, who helps her. Many things have transpired in the seven months that have passed, but Aram is one of the few things that has remained constant.

Three blocks left to the hotel, and she can sense it - there are gazes too long, too-quick turns of the head and discreet movements of lips. Security is tight. No one stops her.

When Dembe answers the door, Liz’s eyes are immediately drawn to the sling supporting his arm. It is a stark reminder of what had happened. A few inches down from his shoulder, and it could have been a fatal shot.

Dembe doesn’t look surprised to see her. But she can tell from the lines of his body - tense, square, closed - that he is not pleased.

“I cannot let you in, Elizabeth,” he finally says.

She bites her lips. “Please.”

 “Not today.” Dembe pauses, then adds, “It is not a good day.”

 "You mean he’s not having a good day,” she hedges.

Dembe doesn’t. 

“I need to see him,” she pleads. “Please.”

“You want to see him,” Dembe corrects, his tone suddenly harsh. “You don’t need to see him.”

She is about to protest, then decides that yes, Dembe is right.

She inhales, then exhales.

“Okay,” she admits. “But could you please let him know that I came, and that I really want to see him.”

She can see the exact moment Dembe’s gaze softens. “I will,” he finally says.

—

The atmosphere at the Post Office is tense.

There is an insane amount of paperwork to fill out. There was significant collateral damage, and they need to be accounted for and explained away. The higher powers are not happy.

Panabaker, with her Southern drawl and sharp wit, is like a determined dog refusing to let go of a bone. She is determined to piece the task force back together, whip them all into shape, and get things back to how they should be.

All the happiness Cooper had shown at seeing Liz again gradually disappears as he fights the fires that need to be put out.

Ressler has taken to ignoring her for the most part.

Navabi is surprisingly candid about it. “Logically, I can understand why you did what you did,” she says. “I just need some time to process this emotionally. I mourned you.”

Aram yells at her for a straight 20 minutes. Which he ends with a body-crushing hug and a kiss to her cheek.

And when she sobs her eyes out on his shoulder about the mess she created, he lets her. “You’ve given us all whiplash, Liz. One moment, you’re part of us. Then you’re on the run, and we are hunting down a Russian spy who had infiltrated one of the most secure task forces in the world, and who had been our friend. Then you died, and we all mourned you.” He hugs her tighter. “Give us all some time.”

—

Her next few attempts at seeing Red are not successful.

—

She brings Agnes to the Post Office on a dreary Sunday afternoon. It’s one of those gloomy days, the sort of day that makes a person want to curl up in front of a fireplace with a mug of hot cocoa or tea.

It is most definitely not the sort of day for coming into work on a Sunday for paperwork.

When Ressler spots Agnes in the baby carrier strapped to Liz’s body, Liz is sure he is going to give her an earful.

She drops the diaper bag and the travel cot and stands there.She is an absolute mess and she knows it. She wraps her arms around Agnes, pulling her even closer to her body. 

“There’s no one I can leave her with,” she states. She tries to ignore the tears in her eyes, tries to ignore the fact that she is having a meltdown. “It’s safe here.”

She knows she’s breaking all the protocol that can be broken, but they have never been true followers of protocol, have they. And the team is grounded, still trying to sort out everything that has happened. They are operating on minimum strength. There are no dangerous criminals in the premises for now. It is the safest place for Agnes to be.

In the end, it is Cooper who comes over. He picks up the travel cot and the diaper bag. He places an arm around her shoulder, and guides her to her office. There’s no space in her shared office with Ressler, but he sets the play pen up outside in a spot right where she can see Agnes from her seat. Agnes settles into the cot, intrigued by her environs and gnawing happily on her chew toy.

He sits down with her, and makes her a mug of coffee.

“I’m sorry,” she scrubs at her face. “I’m just - this is all a mess.”

“You’ve caused a lot of trouble, Elizabeth.”

She presses her lips together as her eyes well up again. “That is an understatement”, she admits.

There’s nothing much Cooper can say. And Liz will take all she can get. They spend a few moments in silence.

"Things will get better."  He was ever decent. She did so respect him.

"Will they?" she whispers, "'Cos everyone, including my own self, hates me for what I did."

"We do insane things for the people we love." Cooper takes her hand, and pats it. "Me. You. Reddington. Even Ressler."

Agnes starts to cry, and Liz closes her eyes. She loves her daughter and would do anything for her, but the process of teething... not so much.

She makes to get up, but Cooper stops her. "Look.”

Aram is there, scooping Agnes out of the playpen, and he begins to bounce her, making silly faces with a singsong voice. Then Agnes' cries turn into gurgles of laughter, drawing a chuckle from Samar and - even Ressler is looking at them, arms folded but a smile beginning to quirk at his lips.

Glass half full. Maybe she can do that.

—

When Cooper finds out that she’s staying in a motel, he invites her to stay with him and Charlene. His tone gives no room for argument.

She's glad to see Charlene and Cooper together again. There is a tentativeness still present in their movements, but the looks that they give each other - things will be okay.

To her surprise, she doesn't think about Tom for days. Not at all. Not until she puts Agnes down to sleep, and there is a look in Agnes' eyes that remind her of Tom.

She's okay with that. She's come to terms with the fact that that part of her life is over. She had loved Tom. He had loved her. But there were too many lies and too much deceit between the two of them for things to ever go back to what they were.

She doesn’t expect to feel a lightheartedness when she files the papers to change her name. But she does.

When Ressler spots her new ID, he looks at her - really  _looks_  at her - for the first time in the two weeks she’s been back.

She offers him a tentative, hopeful smile.

He doesn’t smile back, not quite, but something in his eyes softens. 

—

It's cheating, she knows, but what happened at the Post Office has given her an idea. She doesn't like the idea of using her daughter, but Agnes, her darling Agnes, is her olive branch, her last resort, her fail safe. 

It's a penthouse apartment this time. Red has been confined to DC for the foreseeable future, unable to travel.

At least something is going her way - she wouldn’t be able to traipse all over the country looking for him.

Dembe answers the door, of course, and his eyes are drawn immediately to the baby carrier Liz is wearing. Agnes is peacefully slumbering against her chest, worn out from a crying jag in the car.

"Elizabeth," he sighs, equal parts exasperated and accusing.

"Please." 

"You cannot keep doing this."

"Fifth time lucky?" Her joke falls flat. She sighs.

There is a distant crash somewhere in the apartment, and Dembe whips his head around.

Liz takes a step forward, but stops herself from going further. ”Go," she urges. He hesitates. "Dembe,  _go_."

Dembe looks at her - a warning - but he doesn't make her leave. Then he looks down at Agnes again, and heads further into the apartment without another word.

Liz stands there. Then she takes a step into the apartment, and shuts the door behind her. She can hear voices from within the apartment if she listens very carefully. She can make out Dembe's low, measured tone. 

She stands there and scrutinizes the apartment. Impeccably designed, almost as though out of a magazine. It bears no sign of having been lived in.

Agnes starts to fuss, and the whimpers turn to a full out squall.

By the time Liz manages to calm Agnes down, the voices have stopped.

Liz takes a tentative step forward, then Dembe appears again, startling her.

"Raymond mourned you. He grieved for you. You have  _no idea_  what he was like when you died. He was willing to throw  _everything_  away to avenge your death. And he almost did by going after you when he found out you were alive.” Dembe quietly says. “Elizabeth, please do not make me regret this.”

Dembe picks up the diaper bag and sets it on the table in the middle of the living room. Liz looks down at Agnes, who is calm and surveying her surroundings with wide eyes, before following Dembe into the apartment. 

When Dembe disappears into the depths of the vast apartment, she drifts over to the windows from where she can see the National Mall. She bounces lightly on her toes, and Agnes reaches out, waving happily, fascinated at the sunlight and scenery.

“Elizabeth.”

Liz is overcome by an inexplicable urge to run up to Red and hug him. The last time she had this feeling, she had run across the road and thrown her arms around him.

She doesn’t this time.

Red's gaze is inscrutable.

Liz had noticed the expressions on his face when he looked at her before. Of course she did. But she had chosen to ignore them - she had chalked them down as a coincidence or as a machination on Red's part.

Now, though, all she wants is to be at the receiving end of one of those looks again.

“Elizabeth Milhoan,” she blurts out. “I changed my name.”

 Something shifts minutely in his gaze but it disappears before she can catch it.

 His gaze is fixed on her. She can read nothing from it.

 There is a long silence.

 She takes a tentative step forward. “Red, I - “

“I was recently gifted some excellent tieguanyin,” he interrupts. “Harvested in spring, plucked from only trees that are between two to three years old. Hand pressed, sun dried and incredibly fragrant.”

He turns around, slow on the crutches. She mutely moves towards the kitchen with him.

He retrieves a box wrapped in red velvet, and sits down at the dining table gracefully, despite his entire right leg being swathed in a cast and held together by a brace. He leans the crutches against the chair next to him, and gestures for her to bring over the kettle. It is already hot to the touch.

Liz watches him as he fills a small ceramic pot with the dried tea leaves. He scalds the leaves with the hot water, and then discards the water on a tray. He fills the pot again.

“Few people know that you don’t actually brew tea - you infuse it.” Red replaces the lid on the small ceramic pot, and folds his hands together. “The mineral content of the water matters. How long you infuse the tea leaves for matters. The temperature of the water matters. And you should never use water that is just off the boil for green tea.” He picks up the pot and carefully pours some tea into a similar ceramic cup. “That’s not to mention the countless factors that affect the growth of the  _camellia sinensis_. The weather, the humidity, the season it’s picked, which leaves are picked. I could go on and on about it.” Red slides a cup in front of her. He doesn’t look at her. “All those steps for tea. But my god, it can be an exquisite cup of tea.”

She eyes him, then picks up the cup. The temperature is perfect, and the aroma of the tea is nutty and warm, with a floral hint. It is smooth, with nary a hint of acidity.

 “Fascinating, isn’t it,” Red cocks his head. “All those flavours and aromas coming off what are essentially dried leaves. So many facets.”

Liz sets the cup down. She lays her hands flat on the table and bites her lip. There are no words that she can use to express what she is feeling. “Thank you,” she finally says. “For coming for me.”

Red doesn’t say anything. Liz feels pinned down by his scrutiny.

Then, Agnes shifts in the carrier, swinging her legs, unhappy at being cooped up for so long. Red’s gaze shifts to Agnes, and there, Liz finally sees something - something in his gaze yields.

Liz extricates Agnes from carrier and settles her down on her lap. She cannot resist pressing a kiss to Agnes’ fragile skull, and she inhales that perfect, baby powder scent.

Red cannot stop looking at Agnes.

“Would you like to hold her?” Liz is out of her seat even before the end of her own question. She walks over to Red, and his arms open of their own accord without any further prompting from her.

She set Agnes down on his lap, careful to avoid his right side.

Agnes is a warm, soft weight on Red’s lap, and he looks down at her. She stares at him, her green eyes wide and full of wonder. And as though his hands are beyond his own control, Red strokes her cheek with one finger.

“She looks like you,” he murmured, so soft that Liz has to strain to hear him. “She looks just like your mother.”

Liz observes as a smile creeps up on Red’s face. The look that he gives Agnes - that was the look he used to give to her, she realises. Wonder. Protectiveness. Fondness.

“She’s my world,” Liz confesses. “I would do anything for her.”

Red says nothing.

Liz is acutely aware of the fact that a few months ago, she would have wanted nothing more than to keep Agnes out of Red’s arms and his world.

Yet, here they are.

“I never apologised,” Liz falters. “For what I did.”

Red doesn’t look up from Agnes. The half-smile is gone, and his shoulders are tense, but his hands are still gentle. “We do the things we have to do.”

“I made a terrible mistake, Red. And I’m so sorry.”

“I know intimately well what it’s like to need to torch it all for someone you love,” Red concedes. “But it doesn’t make it any better for the people who get burned along the way.”

There is nothing Liz can say to that.

Red finally tears his eyes away from Agnes, and he looks at her. Sorrow, hurt and anger mingle on his face.

“I am sorry that you felt it was necessary to do what you did, Elizabeth. I truly regret that you felt you could do nothing else except to fake your own death in order to get away from me.”

He hands Agnes back to her, and gets to his feet with a grimace. Lines of pain appear around his eyes, but he soldiers on and slowly walks away.

“Wait, Red - “ Liz starts, but she is interrupted by a voice.

“Raymond? I think we’ve got something here.” Marvin Gerard is leaning out of a doorway, waving a sheet of paper. “You should take a look.”

Then Marvin spots Liz, and he stops. “Oh. You.” He glances at Red. “This can wait, if you need - “

“No, no,” Red waves a hand. “The Uzbeks have been getting on my nerves. It’s best we settle this once and for all before they throw their hissy fit. Elizabeth here was just leaving.” Dembe appears, hovering behind Red as Red makes his way slowly towards Marvin. “Dembe, if you would so kindly see Elizabeth back to Harold’s.”

Dembe looks like he would much rather help Red down the hallway, and seems about to protest. But Red stops him with a hand on his forearm. “Dembe,” he entreats. “I’m fine.”

He retreats into one of the rooms with Marvin, and Liz, with Agnes in her arms, can only watch.

—

She doesn’t question it when she finds a baby seat set up in the Mercedes-Benz.

Dembe is silent during the journey. 

Liz swallows, flexing her hands. “How is his leg?”

Dembe looks at her through the rear view mirror. “He is not healing as well as the doctors think he should be. They are looking at a third surgery.”

Liz nods once, biting her lip. She swallows, hard, and rests her head against the window.

She still has nightmares about it.

She had watched her father shoot Red once in the shoulder, and twice in the right leg. His leg had been ravaged, bone splinters tearing through flesh and femoral artery. And then he had kicked Red, again, and again, in the right leg, worsening the fractures, grinding bones together, forcing the leg into such unnatural angles that -

Sometimes, she dreams that it had all been too late.

That Ressler and Navabi and Baz and Dembe had never come. That she had cradled Red’s head, alone, all alone, as she watched the light die out of his eyes, his lifeblood staining the plush carpet a dark red.

She remembers getting to her feet and placing herself square in front of Red. She remembers staring down the barrel of the gun.

“Masha,” her father had warned. “Stay out of this.”

She doesn’t remember how she had moved, how she had taken her father by surprise. All she could remember was that she had spotted Ressler behind her father, gun drawn and lips beginning to move. Then she had disarmed her father with a good twist of the arm and an elbow to the gut. Two shots went through the windows, and then before she knew it, she had the gun pointing at him.

She hadn’t hesitated at all.

Samar had been the one to coax the gun from her hands as they began to shake. Then Baz had appeared with Agnes, sleeping and blissfully unaware, in his arms.

By the time Liz had made it to Red’s, Ressler had already begun looping his tie around Red’s upper thigh. “Donald,” Red had muttered, eyes half-closed. “How the tables have turned.”

“Having been in a similar position,” Ressler had shot back, “It would be better if you were unconscious for this.”

Red had wheezed out a soundless laugh, which had then been cut off by his pained groan when Dembe pressed his hands to his shoulder wound. “Dembe, my dear boy - “

“No, Raymond,” Dembe had said firmly, “You will apologise to me  _later_.” 

Liz remembers taking Red’s left hand, everything and everyone else fading into the background. “Red,” she had desperately said. “Raymond.”

“Lizzie…” he had breathed, eyes half open and head turned towards her. “Are you okay?”

_“His leg is mangled, the femoral artery is shredded. We need to find the - “_

“I’m okay.” She remembers leaning in, straining to hear him. “You came for me. Despite what I did.”

“Told you… I would.”

“ _I think I’ve got my finger on it. Hang on, give me two seconds - “_

She remembers the terror that had overtaken her when Red’s eyes had started to fall close. “No, Red, stay with me.” 

“Katerina…” he had murmured, eyes closed. “Katerina - don't. Don’t go. Come back.” 

_“Hold him down. How the hell is he still talking - give him something to bite on, it’s going to hurt like a bitch - “_

Her mother’s name spilling soundlessly from Red’s parched lips, his eyes -

“Elizabeth.  _Elizabeth_.”

They’re outside Cooper’s house. Dembe is half-turned in his seat, and looking at her with undisguised concern.

“Sorry,” she tries to smile. Her face is wet. She swipes her hand across her cheek quickly. “My thoughts got away from me there.”

She gets out of the car. Dembe is already there, helping to unbuckle Agnes from the baby seat. He picks Agnes up with a gentleness that seems impossible of someone of his size, and hands her to Liz. 

Liz takes Agnes, and clutches his arm. “Thank you.” She pauses. “For letting me see him. And taking care of him.”

To her surprise, Dembe envelops her in a hug. “Don’t  _ever_  do that to Raymond again,” he whispers fiercely. “Don’t _ever_ do that to any of us again.”

“Please let me know how he does,” she mumbles, suddenly exhausted. Her heart is heavy and there is a lump in her throat.

Dembe lets her go. “Take care of yourself, Elizabeth.”

“Please, Dembe.”

Before Dembe goes back into the car, he looks back at her. He nods.

Glass half full, she thinks. Baby steps.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One step forward, one step back.

The cool, crisp autumn night air is cool on her face as she runs through the neighbourhood. She has taken to running in the evenings, partly to burn some of the anxiety that now simmers her everyday, and partly to recover the fitness that had been lost in the past few months.

She pauses right under a street lamp. She is bent over, catching her breath, when someone grabs her around the neck. The sharp, metallic object pressed against the small of her back is cold.

She is just about to spin around and give a well-placed knee to the groin and a kick to the kneecap when the knife against her back disappears. With a loud thud, her assailant is on the ground, out cold.

“Oh, come _on_!” she throws her hands in the air. “Really?”

“Just doing my job,” Baz shrugs, tucking his gun away.

Liz gets to her knees. At least Baz hadn’t _shot_  her assailant. He had just used the butt of his gun to give him a clock to the head.

She pats the guy down. No gun. Just a small fruit knife. Just a kid who didn’t know who the hell he had targeted.

“Baz,” she glowers, “I really am grateful for all the times you’ve saved my ass. But it would have been nice to know you were following me.”

“You’re not my boss.” Baz bends down and begins to drag the unconscious kid away. “Mr Reddington is.”

Liz immediately leans over and yanks the arms of her assailant out of Baz’s grasp. “Oh, you’re not gonna do that.” The team had never found the man who had attacked her in the parking lot that time. They’d had their suspicions. “Leave him here, I’ll call it in."

She stares down his protest. He relents, and nods once before striding away across the street.

Liz stands in the middle of the street, hands on her hips, alone.

Or not, she thinks. He’s probably just across the street, lurking in the shadows, still watching her. 

A part of her is annoyed - Red, once again meddling in her life, pulling the strings behind the scenes - but another part of her is relieved that he’s looking out for her. Still doing so, despite everything that has happened. 

Sighing, she looks at the punk at her feet. She kicks the knife further away. She takes out her phone, and dials 911.

—

Her phone vibrates just as she steps outside the district station.

“I would appreciate if you didn’t tell my men what to do, Elizabeth.” There is no greeting, no witty quip. “It puts them in the strange, precarious position of disobeying my orders.”

“His order was to keep me safe,” she retorts. “That doesn’t entail making someone else disappear off the face of the earth.”

“Someone who had been willing to stick a knife into you.”

“He was just a kid!”

“That could have been _anyone_ , Elizabeth,” Red snaps. His voice is tight, and he sounds off-kilter. “You don’t have the slightest idea how exposed you are. Everyone knows about you.”

“I _know_ that,” she retorts right back. “Why do you think I didn’t tell Baz to get the hell out of my face?”

“And yet,” he is loud, and agitated. “You go for runs in the middle of the night! Alone! Without your gun!”

Liz inhales, counts to five in her head, and exhales. He’s right. She’s been complacent. And careless. “You’re shouting. It’s two in the morning. Can we do this another time?”

A black sedan pulls up in front of her. Baz is at the wheel.

“Get in the car,” Red says, his tone leaving no space for argument. “Harold is worried about you.”

Before Liz can say anything else, he hangs up on her.

She stares at the phone in disbelief. Her question about how exactly Red knows Cooper is worried about her dies on her lips.

Baz is still waiting there, expectantly.

Suppressing a sigh, Liz gets in the car.

—

Her attempts to get hold of Red the next day are futile.

Aram gives her a Look when she asks him again, but he doesn't fail her. The tracking chip pinpoints Red's location to a sprawling property in Arlington. 

She doesn’t know what to expect when she gets there. She’s stumbled in on interrogations of a questionable nature, suburban housewives printing money, and an entire floor of pregnant women used as breeding stock. Red’s arrival in her life has brought things so surreal and unexpected that she doesn’t expect to be surprised anymore.

She’s not very surprised to find an entire hospital in the compound of the property.

Dembe doesn’t expect to see her. He checks his pockets, and as she expects, he doesn’t have his phone with him. He hesitates for a long while, but finally lets her in without a word.

The property is furnished immaculately, with furniture and rooms right out of a interior design magazine. But it is impersonal; there are no pictures, no personal things. Dembe leads her further into the property, and they descend a flight of stairs.

The basement reveals treatment rooms, recovery wards, hospital beds, machinery, and cupboards full of tools and medication. He leads her further in, and they come to a room that adjoins what appears to be an operating theatre. Through a long window, she can see surgeons working on Red.

“He didn’t say anything about having surgery today.” Who’s she kidding, she thinks. Red hasn’t told her a lot of things.

“Bone grafts,” a familiar voice supplies. “Hello, Elizabeth.”

Mr Kaplan appears in the doorway in a tan coat, her hands clasped in front of her. There is worry written all over her face. Liz walks over and throws her arms around Mr Kaplan. Then she glances uncertainly at Dembe.

Mr Kaplan notices. “Dembe and I are okay,” she assures Liz, patting her on the back. “Raymond and I, on the other hand...”

Liz squeezes Mr Kaplan’s hands as they both sit down. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, dearie. I offered to do it for you. I knew what I was getting myself into. You were so terrified, and so scared for Agnes. We thought you’d be safe, but we had instead thrust you into a whole new, dangerous world. I thought - ”

A phone rings. Dembe locates it from a small side table. Seven missed calls from Liz. He shoots her a slightly apologetic look.

“I have to take this,” he says, walking out of the room. “Excuse me.”

“- I thought I was protecting Raymond. I thought I was protecting you. But after seeing what he was like grieving you…” Mr Kaplan offers a watery smile. “Losing you was a tremendous blow to him. He was reckless, and had no care for his own life. It was a terrible miscalculation on my part. Instead of protecting him, I thrust him into great danger and caused him immense hurt.”

Liz bits her lip. She hasn’t dare to ask, but she has to. “Nik?”

“Alive. Dembe convinced Red that it would be a grave mistake to kill him. You would never have forgiven him.”

“No,” Liz admits. “I wouldn’t have. Especially since I was the person who brought Nik into this.”

“Precisely.”

“Did Red… You’re here, but did he…?”

“No,” Mr Kaplan wryly smiles. “He pointed a gun at me. But he didn’t hurt me. We go back too far for that. Most importantly, he knew I did it not for my own benefit, but for yours and Agnes’,” she pauses, then adds. "I still work for him. I just don't work with him."

“I’m so sorry,” Liz repeats.

“Stop saying that, my dear. We make our choices and we live with the consequences.”

Liz looks towards the operating theatre. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Dr Manoj is one of the best. Raymond will be okay, though his penchant for cigars doesn’t help.”

“What is this place?”

“Gregory Smith. Sometime millionaire, sometime NRA lobbyist, sometime underground hospital CEO. Everything here is state of the art. He charges exorbitant prices for the use of the space and equipment for absolute discretion and anonymity, no questions asked. You would be surprised at the things that go on in the capital, and how much people are willing to pay to keep major surgeries off records. And I’m not just referring to criminals.”

Dembe reappears in the doorway with Baz. Their faces are serious, and Baz has on what Liz has come to think of as his war vest.

“We’ve been compromised,” Dembe’s eyes shift towards Liz. “It’s Kirk’s men.”

Liz is only vaguely aware of Mr Kaplan going over to an intercom and speaking to Dr Manoj in the operating theatre.

She takes the gun and ammunition clips from Dembe, and straps on the bulletproof vest that he insists on. With a earpiece, she hooks into the comms.

Adrenaline surges through her veins. Yet all she can think of is Agnes, back at Cooper’s with Charlene. Her peals of laughter, her ten toes, her chubby fingers.

“Agnes is safe.” Mr Kaplan says as she fiddles with the Smith & Wesson in her hands. “We’ve made arrangements with Director Cooper. Mrs Cooper knows what to do. Our men are with them right now.”

Liz’s phone rings. She composes herself. “Milhoan.”

“Where are you?”

She looks at Dembe, who nods without hesitation. “Highfield Creek. We’ve been compromised. Reddington is still in surgery, and the surgeons need - “ she glances at Mr Kaplan, who gestures with her fingers. “ - they need at least two more hours.”

“We’re on our way with Hooper's team.” Ressler says curtly. Then he pauses, and adds gruffly, “Don’t do anything rash. Think about Agnes.”

Liz looks into the operating theatre, where Red lies, eyes closed and tube running out of his mouth. Then her eyes slide over to where his loyal men are gearing up and checking their firearms.

This is her world now. Their world. Has been, for some time. Plenty of time has passed since Red blew into her life like a hurricane wind leaving upheaval in his wake. She still has trouble sometimes believing that this is what her life has come to now.

“Yeah,” she whispers into the phone, “See you guys on the other side.”

—

Liz sits by Red’s bed, and waits. She sweeps the bullet casings on the floor with her feet, watching as they roll across the floor and away from her.

She pointedly does not look at the bullet holes in the operating theatre door. It had been that close. Despite the place being a fortress, their attackers had still managed to penetrate as far as the room adjacent to the operating theatre.

Mr Kaplan had picked two off, and Liz had settled two others and physically subdued a third. The bruise on her jaw will give her hell for the next few days.

Ressler and Navabi are outside rounding up the rest of Kirk’s men, and Mr Kaplan is elsewhere making alternative arrangements. Security has been doubled, but their location has been compromised and it is no longer safe to stay here. Dembe is on the phone, angrier than she has ever heard him.

It’s just her in the room with Red.

It is unnerving to see Red unmoving. Every movement of his is usually smooth and calculated and controlled. There are lines on his face that remain even in his medicated sleep. She wonders how many are a result of her actions.

She is exhausted. Agnes is safe with Cooper and Aram, ensconced in the depths of the Post Office, which is surrounded by both Red’s men and a trusted TAC team. Red is safe, in front of her. The surgery was complete. It went well. 

The adrenaline seeps out of her, and it leaves in its wake a bone-deep fatigue. 

She lays her head down on the bed, pillowing her head on her arms. Just a little rest, until Mr Kaplan or Dembe comes back with news…

She doesn’t realise she has drifted off to sleep until she gradually becomes conscious of a hand on the back of her head, and fingers stroking her hair.

Her face is turned away from Red, half-hidden in her folded arms. She keeps her breathing steady, her eyes closed and her body lax.

The touch is gentle, but slightly clumsy.

She shifts slightly and uncoordinatedly, as though snuffling while still asleep.She leans into that warm touch just a bit more.

“What am I going to do with you, Lizzie?” Red’s slurred words are barely audible. “What are we going to do?”

Liz forces herself to remain as she is. Red's hand stills, but his thumb continues to stroke her temple. 

“Raymond.” Dembe. The hand at the back of Liz’s head disappears abruptly, and Liz can feel the dip slightly next to her head where Red’s hand drops back onto the bed. “It’s good to see you awake. You did well. We are moving you. It is no longer safe to stay here."

“Where?”

“St Mary’s. We think it’s best that you remain in plain sight, the more people around the better. The last thing Kirk’s associates want is to raise more suspicions. Agent Ressler and his men are securing a wing as we speak.”

Liz moves as though she has been roused to consciousness by their conversation. Her hair is mussed up, and her jaw _hurts_. “You’re awake.”

Red frowns as he gestures to her jaw. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay. It's just a bruise. How are you feeling?”

“I abhor going under general anaesthesia. It makes me nauseous. You’re not supposed to be here.”

She resists the temptation to roll her eyes. “I was concerned about you. Both of you were uncontactable.”

“Elizabeth.” Back to Elizabeth it is.

Something in her snaps. “Would you prefer I was here for work? That I inform you that Cynthia Panabaker wants you to start giving us more blacklisters by the end of the week, or the deal is off the table and I am out of a job? Is that preferable to me being here because I care about you?”

Red’s only response is to purse his lips.

“Unbelievable,” Liz mutters. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

Dembe clears his throat from the door. “We’re moving in ten.”

Liz glances at Red. He is pale, and is obviously still feeling the effects of the anaesthesia. She checks her watch. It’s incredible that he’s even able to hold a conversation, it’s barely been an hour since he was wheeled out of surgery.

Liz sits down on the bed, and takes his hand. She knows he can read the apology on her face. “Can we just - let this go for now? Please?”

“You’re upset.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious. It has nothing to do with the fact that we just survived a siege.”

Red’s lips quirk upwards in a ghost of a smile.

“I am glad you’re here,” he finally admits. “But I will never be able to forgive myself if I make Agnes an orphan.”

“Yeah,” she whispers, “I know. I’m sorry about last night.”

Red’s face contorts with grief. “My mistakes have caused you immeasurable suffering. But you have to know - I will do anything I can to protect you. And Agnes.” His eyes slowly fall close as he loses the fight against the drugs that still linger in his system. “You have to know that.”

“Yeah.” She watches as he slips back into sleep, the tension never fully dissolving from his face. She leans in, and presses a chaste kiss to his forehead. “I know.”

—

Ressler yanks her into a hug once he spots her walking into the secured wing alongside Red’s gurney. He nearly crushes her in his embrace.

“I’m okay,” she assures him. “Look, I’m fine. Are you okay? Is Navabi okay?”

“We’re both fine.” He pulls back and studies her face. Then he appears to remember that he’s supposed to be mad at her. “That’s going to hurt like a bitch,” he adds gruffly.

She suppresses a smile. “Yeah.”

“I’m still mad at you,” he warns, pointing a finger at her. “The fact that you survived a siege by an army of highly trained mercenaries doesn’t change anything.”

She looks at him shrewdly, her lips curled in a knowing smile. “Sure.”

He stares at her for a while, then snorts and yanks her into a one-armed embrace again. “What has our life become,” he mutters. “Things definitely weren’t _this_ crazy a few years ago.”

“Since when have things been easy with Reddington around?” she says ruefully, with none of the heat that would have come with such a statement a few months ago.

“It’s… weird,” Ressler admits. “Seeing him like this.”

Liz follows his gaze to where Red is being hooked up to the various monitors and IVs. “Yeah,” she agrees. “And I put him there.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, Don. The last time… it was the the Director. The Cabal. This time, it’s me.”

Ressler pulls her aside, further away from where Dembe and the medical staff are talking. “Liz. Listen to me. You didn’t see him after - after what you did. I put a gun to his head during his attempt to assassinate Alexander Kirk. He was willing to die in order to kill Kirk,” he says firmly. “He wasn’t thinking straight. He shouldn’t have gone after you the way he did. He shouldn’t have done what Kirk asked him to do, and he definitely shouldn’t have gone in alone with no back up. He put himself there. He walked into the trap. Willingly." 

“That makes sense, I know,” she argues half-heartedly, sitting down and burying her head in her hands. “But it doesn’t make me feel any better - what I did to him, what I did to all of you…”

Ressler sits down next to her. “You were thinking of Agnes," he says shortly. 

“You’re failing to mention my grand plan of running away with Tom and living happily ever after with him.”

Ressler pauses. “Yeah, that was definitely a flaw.”

Liz huffs a teary laugh. “What was I even thinking.”

“You loved him.”

“Yeah,” she chokes out. “I did.”

“All I know, Liz,” Ressler says softly, “is that your life was upended by Reddington. All our lives were. That’s all on him. He has to live with the consequences. We all do.”

“Everything’s broken. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Ressler squeezes her shoulder. “You’ve always been a quick study, Milhoan.”

She turns her head and looks into his eyes. Her face crumples. The tears leak out. 

Ressler sighs. He loops an arm around her shoulders and tugs her close. “You’ll figure it out.”

—

She brings Agnes. It's the only thing she has going for her. 

She stops outside the room, just out of sight, around the corner. There is a woman sitting by Red’s bed, and they are conversing quietly and seriously. She doesn’t recognise this woman, and has never seen her before. But then again, it is virtually impossible to meet or know all of Red’s vast network of associates.

Agnes gurgles and kicks one socked foot. “Alright,” Liz breathes. “In we go.”

Red catches sight of them both. “Elizabeth.”

“Hi,” she says awkwardly, loitering in the doorway. She can’t help but feel she has interrupted something important. "We can come back if it's not convenient." 

The woman gets to her feet. Liz’s instinctive attempt to get a read on her is impossible, just like for many of Red’s associates. One thing is clear though - this woman is not happy to see her.

“Anna,” Red says softly. “Don’t.”

The woman - Anna, Red had called her - seems to compose herself. “I’ll leave you two to it,” she says coolly, before she strides out of the room without sparing either of them a glance. 

There is an unhappy frown on Red’s face as he watches her stride out, but Liz knows better than to ask further questions. If there’s anything she’s learnt over the past few months, sometimes it’s better not knowing.

She sets Agnes down on the left side of the bed - away from the latest contraption encircling Red’s right leg - and seats herself down in the chair Anna had vacated. The new leg brace is more complicated than the previous, with even more screws and rods. 

Red is entranced.

His arm encircles Agnes’ small body, guarding against any accidental mishaps. His face has brightened considerably. He’s definitely still on a considerable dosage of painkillers. She has never been able to read his face so easily.

“She can sit up by herself now?” It’s more a statement than a question. “That’s wonderful.”

“She can crawl too.” Liz watches as Red lets Agnes tug at his hoodie. “And she babbles. A lot.”

“She’s good with strangers. Docile, even.”

Liz has observed this for some time, but to acknowledge it out loud is another matter. “Yes. She is.”

“It’s not a surprise.” Red’s face twists, and she can see displeasure and regret. “She’s been exposed to a lot of strangers. Your father, I suppose?”

Liz nods mutely. “All I’ve ever wanted is to give her what I had with Dad.”

“Sam gave you a wonderful, normal, carefree, happy childhood.”

“One with visits to the playground, and playdates, and tricycles in the front yard. No guns, no blood, no people tracking her.” Liz reaches over and strokes Agnes’ hair. “I don’t know if she can have that, now.”

“She can,” Red asserts. “Maybe not the most conventional childhood. But that in no way means she can’t have a happy one.”

“You helped Dad give me that.” She avoids his eyes, and focuses on passing Agnes her stuffed dolphin. “You watched over us. Me.” She pauses, then raises her head and looks at him square in the eye. He’s doped up on painkillers. She can try. “Why?”

There is a long pause. Red's eyes are locked on her. For a while, she wonders if he is going to evade this question just as he has evaded many others. She steels herself, readies herself for yet another disappointment.

“I stand by what I said. When I look at you, I see my way home.”

“But, _why_?” she presses.

Something twitches in Red’s face, and it suddenly strikes her that he looks old. “You were the last good thing. Before.” He clenches his fist, and opens it again. “I had to choose. I chose you.”

“Over?” She’s close. She can sense it. So close. "Chose me over what? who?" 

Red’s gaze is infinitely sad. His eyes are red-rimmed. He looks weary.

Then he looks away. He doesn’t say anything, just looks away from her and Agnes, and towards the window, signalling the end of the conversation. Liz knows - if he could walk, he would be walking away right now.

Before Liz can probe further, Agnes makes herself heard, whining in the particular way that tells Liz that she needs a diaper change.

“There’s a changing table in the en-suite.” Dembe’s voice startles her. She half-turns in the chair to find him sitting on the couch behind her, next to where she had chucked the diaper bag. 

She glances at Red again. He is utterly closed off now, expression unreadable.

She takes the hint from Dembe, and scoops Agnes off the bed.

As she changes Agnes’ diaper, she can hear low murmurs from outside the toilet. She strains to hear, but cannot make out distinct words.

When she finally emerges with an appeased Agnes in her arms, Red’s eyes are closed, and he is breathing slowly and easily. He's asleep. It doesn’t escape her how Dembe has positioned himself between her and Red.

“Good night, Elizabeth,” Dembe says quietly. His tone brooks no argument, and she knows when it’s time to bid a retreat. 

She turns back at the corner she had stopped at before entering Red’s room. She looks back - his eyes are open, and he is staring out the window.  One hand fiddles with the leg brace. He looks deeply unhappy, the corners of his mouth turned down in a grimace.

Liz watches for a while, something twisting in her stomach. Red is lost in his thoughts, oblivious to Dembe’s presence at his side. 

Liz looks at her baby, her Agnes, ensconced safe in her arms. She presses a kiss to Agnes’ temple, and holds her a little tighter. Then she turns on her heels, and leaves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this expanded from two chapters to three chapters. Trying to complete this before the new season comes out and renders this whole thing wildly AU. 
> 
> Reviews or comments will be much appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

“Galina Kuznetsova.”

“Who?”

“Number 79.”

“Oh.” She glances over the stack of papers in front of her at Ressler, and out towards the open area where Aram and Navabi are seated. A familiar thrill runs through her veins, but she tampers it down. “This is… sudden. How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Red’s response is curt. And then, continuing as though as though she had shown no concern for him whatsoever, “Kuznetsova worked very closely with Alexander Kirk, and rumours were they were more than just business partners - ”

“Red - I’m serious. It’s only been two days since your surgery. You’re still healing - “

“ - and that they were well on their way to getting married. Until Kirk found out about you.”

“Oh.”

“Unlike Kirk and many other prominent Russian business leaders, she’s not ex-KGB. She is, however, a wildly brilliant and passionate woman who has ascended the political and corporate ladder rapidly.”

Red’s business-like tone and utter lack of response to her concern for him grates on her. She’s running short on sleep, what with Agnes teething. The something that simmers in her - that sits like a rock in her stomach - flares, and something cold and cruel in her rears its head. “What’s your angle in this?”

Almost immediately, she regrets it.

Red’s chuckle is cold. “Old habits die hard, don’t they.”Liz recoils at his tone of voice. “Is it enough for you if I say that she wants me, and you, dead?”

“She’s the one who sent those men?”

“Dembe is on his way to you with more information.”

He hangs up. Liz stares at the phone in disbelief, half at herself, and half at how things had soured so rapidly between her and Red.

She catches Ressler’s eye, and she loves him for the complete lack of judgment in his face for what he had obviously overheard. “Reddington?”

“Yeah,” she clears her throat. “We’re in business.”

—

Everyone is in the bull pen, waiting. It’s their first case since… everything, and they are eager to begin.

Cooper gestures for her to join him in a corner, and she does. He extracts a small envelope from his pocket, and tips its contents out into the palm of his hand. It’s the colourful animal bracelet.

“Where did you find this?”

“We cleared out your desk when you died.” 

Liz slips the bracelet on. It’s a stark reminder of the day everything had changed.

She smiles at Cooper, her eyes watery. “You mean when I faked my death.”

He quirks his lips. “I was trying to be tactful. Or nice.”

She fingers the bracelet. The bull is, as Beth had said, pokey. The bracelet - it’s unchanged. The same. Colours still as vibrant

“Thank you,” she breathes. “I needed this.”

Cooper gives her a knowing look. “I thought so. Now come on, we’ve got work to do.”

—

When Dembe arrives, he hands Aram a thumb drive. “Everything you need to know is in there.”

He pauses, then adds. “Raymond will not appreciate me saying this. But I will, because it needs to be said. He is still not well. But this is important to him.” Dembe folds his arms. “I would appreciate it if we could keep his involvement to a minimum.”

It’s probably the most the rest of the team has ever heard Dembe speak in one go.

Out of the corner of her eye, Liz can see Aram’s mouth fall open.

Navabi and Cooper nod once each, business-like.

Ressler shrugs. “Definitely fine by me.”

Dembe turns on his heels and begins striding over to the elevator.

“Dembe, please hang on.” Liz calls as she jogs over to him. “How is he?”

Dembe stops, and then pulls her to one side. Liz is well aware that Ressler is only half-listening to Aram’s analysis of the information, and is keeping a wary eye on them both.

“Elizabeth.” Dembe’s frustration is evident. “you are making me regret my initial decision to let you see him.”

“You heard what I said.”

Dembe’s stare is sufficient answer.

“Something in me snapped. I don’t know why I said that.”

“You were the one who said he needed to bring a new blacklister. We could have taken care of Kuznetsova ourselves.”

Her mouth opens, but she gapes, and no words come out. She’d clean forgotten that she had said that to him - that Panabaker had wanted a blacklister, or she would be out of a job.

“I understand if you are under a tremendous amount of stress. But all of us are. Raymond included.”

“You said - he’s not well?"

“He’s in _pain_. He is not a good patient. Especially when being weaned off morphine.”

A flash of guilt. “I… didn’t think.”

Dembe exhales heavily. “He is very good at suppressing pain.” His voice is gentle, but firm. “Elizabeth, please, don’t make things more difficult than they already are.”

“I know,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

Dembe nods once, then walks off. Her gaze lingers on his retreating figure, then slides to the bracelet on her wrist. She’s trying, she thinks. The problem is - things have changed so much, and everything is fragile. She doesn’t know what the hell it is that she should be doing. She can’t even make up her own mind, and she definitely doesn’t know what the hell she wants.

“Everything okay?” Ressler asks in an undertone as she rejoins the team. Aram is rambling on about some data that he obtained from the thumb drive.

“Yeah,” she tries to smile. The look Ressler gives her tells her she’s fooling no one, especially him. “Dembe’s very protective of Red,” she confesses, knowing he had heard what she had said in their office.

Ressler claps his hand on her shoulder, and squeezes it gently. Then his hand is gone, and he folds his arms as he tunes in to Aram’s spiel. 

She's glad, Liz thinks, that Red has someone like Dembe.

Protecting Red from others. From her. From himself.

—

Somehow, against all odds, against what she’s done to all of them - they fall back together as a team as easily as can be.

One thing hasn’t changed, though - they still need Red. His information, his resources, his knowledge of how certain sorts of things work.

Attempts to contact him or Dembe, however, are futile.

The tracking chip leads them to a bakery. The genial old lady behind the counter hands Ressler and Liz an envelope.

 _It works because I let it work_ , it says. _Try the lamingtons - they’re fabulous._

Liz can practically hear the eye roll that Ressler gives.

—

“You’ve been careless, Galina. It’s rather uncharacteristic of you.”

Always the dramatic entrance. Liz whips her head around. Red’s gait is unsteady on the crutches, and she can tell from the way he holds himself that he is in pain. Dembe is, as always, close behind. Closer than usual. Almost hovering, but gun never wavering from its mark.

“I’ve always admired you. Not many women can navigate their way around and through Russian politics and the patriarchy. You had a gift. Now, though? You’ve let love and lust blind you. It’s so unbecoming of you.” Red levers himself into the chair that Dembe brings over.His wince is clear, and when he next speaks, his voice is carefully controlled. “I mean, what a _pity_. A brilliant mind dulled by _emotions_.”

From where she is bound against the pillar, Liz can see Ressler a few feet behind Kuznetsova, working his way out of the ropes binding his wrists. His head wound is still bleeding sluggishly, but his eyes are sharp and alert.

Kuznetsova's gun remains fixed on Liz. There is a tremble in her hands now. Her eyes flicker towards the door, and the windows, but no one appears.

"Oh," Red waves a crutch in the air carelessly. "Your men are… indisposed. It's just us here in this dreadfully cliched warehouse."

Ressler is now untying the ropes around his legs.

"You..." Galina sputters, no longer the consummate, elegant lady that they had first encountered when they had been drugged and brought to this warehouse. "You - "

"Use your words, darling."

"You killed Alexander. Everything we worked for - gone. It's all in shambles. And all because he found out his darling Masha was still alive. Because of you.”

“You mean when he realised he had a cure,” Liz interrupts coldly. She narrows her eyes. “All he wanted was my blood. A cure, for himself. And that was what he got.”

“Alexander was well on his way to becoming the Russian President!”

“And you, the First Lady of Russia.” Red cocks his head, and continues, “The perfect fairy tale ending. The daughter of a dirt poor teacher until she caught the eye of a dashing ex-KGB spy who had worked his way up the corporate ladder. Overcoming the odds together - even a fatal blood disorder.” 

“It was our destiny.”

“How romantic,” Red muses. “Of course, I’m omitting the fact that both of you stole and killed and bribed your way through it all. Unnecessary detail, though, am I right?”

Galina scoffs, regaining some of her composure. “Don’t talk to me about love ruining me- speak for yourself. This girl here - “ she waves her gun, gesturing at Liz, “ - the bridges you’ve burnt, the massive losses you suffered… For _her_?” She scoffs. “Although, yes, money, influence, power… they can be earned back. Some things though…” her eyes slide over to Red’s leg, and her lips curl with malice. “Some things can’t be put back together, can they? The scarring on your back. Still giving you trouble?”

Red’s smile is ice-cold, and doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well it’s your lucky day, Galina.”

“Why, because I get to kill you both today?”

Red bursts into condescending laughter. “It’s adorable, how you think you still have the upper hand. You’ve never been good with legwork. No… because my leg hurts - we’re going to do this quickly and with minimal fuss.”

“Your arrogance is - “

Kuznetsova’s words die on her lips as Ressler takes her down from behind with a swift blow to her head. She crumples to the ground, unconscious.

“Should’ve put more weight into that, Donald,” Red quips. The mirth is missing from his voice. His ram-rod straight posture slackens as he slumps backwards into his chair, his mask of stoicism slipping.

Liz observes him as Ressler unties her. “How did you find us?”

“Galina was never good at getting her hands dirty. Brilliant strategist, but better off behind the scenes.” Red surveys the woman lying on the ground. Catching Dembe’s eye, he gives a short nod.

Two shots.

Liz watches as blood blooms on Kuznetsova’s cream blouse. She knows she’s suppose to feel pity, or anger, or indignation. Or any of the appropriate feelings she’s supposed to feel when she watches someone die. But she feels nothing.

Ressler jumps up from where he was midway through untying LIz. “Reddington!” His eyes flicker to Dembe, who is tucking the gun back into his holster and defiantly staring back.

“Did you really think you would be able to throw Galina Kuznetsova in prison?” There is none of Red’s usual condescension in his voice. He just sounds flat. “The Russian media darling, their favourite businesswoman? What, with the politics and an army of lawyers? Donald, you’re a one-man Justice League, but even you aren’t that naive.”

Dembe reappears with a wheelchair, which had been nowhere in sight earlier. He is obviously not pleased at Red - Liz can see it in the death glare he directs at Red - as he helps manoeuvre Red from the chair into the wheelchair and prop his leg up.

Red grimaces at the movement. He clasps Dembe’s hand where it lies on his shoulder for a long time before letting go. It appears to mollify Dembe slightly.

“For fuck’s sake,” Ressler mumbles under his breath. He punches the keypad of his phone harder than really necessary. “We’re only just back in business and I hate it already.”

Liz gets to her feet, and she limps over to Red. Dembe, obviously having spotted the abrasions on her knees, brings an overturned crate over for her to sit on. He walks off to the side, on the phone.

Red’s lips are pursed, and his jaw is tense.

He is furious at her.

“Elizabeth,” he grinds out. A muscle in his face twitches. “I can _not_ believe you.”

She kneels down in front of him, but doesn’t touch him. “You’re mad.”

“I did not give you a blacklister so that you could use yourself as bait. I did not - “ he stops himself as he realises that his voice is raised. Ressler looks over from where he stands, but stays where he is. “Your team, and my men, did not risk their lives to save you so that you could _offer yourself up as bait_ to the any old criminal that comes along.”

“We had no choice,” she retorts, keeping her voice as even as possible. “We had to get her to reveal herself, put an end to this quickly. Every moment she was out there, there was a target painted on your back.”

“There is _always_ a target on my back, Elizabeth.” Red pinches the bridge of his nose, and closes his eyes. “One day, I am not going to be able to come in with guns blazing to extricate you from the precarious, dangerous situations you seem to fling yourself without a care in the world.”

“I never wanted this,” she shoots back. “But it is what it is. We’re here now. For better or for worse. We’ve made our choices. ”

Out of the corner of her eye, Liz can see Ressler’s head tilt - he’s stepping out to give them some privacy. Her eyes flicker back to Red.

In the brief moment she took her eyes off his face, his expression has changed. The anger is gone, and what’s left is a peculiar mix of surprise and sorrow. “You are not like me.” His tone is dead serious. “Elizabeth. Listen to me. You are not.”

Something in Liz snaps.

That feeling - one that has been eating away at her for months - crystallises at once. Now she knows what it is. It’s desperation. And hopelessness.

Hell, she thinks, how did she get to this point? At what point had she become this person she now was?

Before, she would never have held a man hostage on a boat for months. She would have flinched when she took a human life. She would have thought of the consequences, instead of rushing headlong into what she wanted without a care for others or for the consequences.

Sam brought her up to be _good._ A good person.

“I had nightmares after my first kill.” Her voice wavers. “I used to flinch. And play it over and over again. Whether I really needed to kill. I used to think - did they have family who would miss them? Children?”

There is only earnestness in Red’s eyes. “Yes.”

“I don’t know what I’ve become,” she confesses. “I look in the mirror and I don’t recognise the person I’ve become.”

“I know.”

“My life was fine - _I_ was fine - before you,” she says half-heartedly with no heat.

A pause. “I know,” he admits.

“What kind of world have I brought Agnes into? She’s stuck with _me_. She’s just a baby, and everything she’s gone through because of me…”

“Elizabeth - ”

“Lizzie,” she beseeches.

Red hesitates, but something in her face must tell him to say it, because he does. “Lizzie,” he finally says. “You are a wonderful mother.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. You staged - you did it for Agnes.” Red’s voice is unsteady. He clears his throat. “Because you believed she would never be safe in my world. You were not wrong about that. You were willing to torch everything, risk your life, risk hurting everyone you had come to care for, for your child.” A tear rolls down her cheek, and Red thumbs it away. “You are everything Sam raised you to be. You are a good person.”

Before she even knows what she’s doing, Liz leans in towards him, resting her cheek on his shoulder. He embraces her, holding her close. “But I’ve crossed the threshold,” she whispers tearfully. “I'm so far over it - I can’t go back.”

She can feel his sigh. “No, you can’t. And it is one of my greatest regrets. But crossing the threshold, and being a good person - they are not mutually exclusive.” He is quiet for a long while.

“We can’t keep going like this," he finally admits. 

The way he says it - he’s not just referring to her. “I know.”

“Something has to change.”

“I know.” She looks down at her hands, and fiddles with the animal bracelet. “But… what?”

Red presses his lips to her hair, and holds her tighter. He offers no answers. 

Somehow, she’s okay with that. It sneaks up on her and surprises her - despite all that’s been said and done, against all odds, there is actually a flicker of hope in her.

It’s an unfamiliar feeling. But it’s very much welcome.

She exhales easily, and closes her eyes.

They stay that way, just the two of them, for a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There aren't always answers or solutions. Especially when the hole you've dug for yourself is a deep one.
> 
> The threshold is the one Red talks about in 3x22, where he tells Liz that when she pulled the trigger and killed Tom Connolly, she stepped from her world into his world. 
> 
> This was my labour of love - obviously dashed to smithereens by 4x01 but one can dream. 
> 
> Reviews and comments will be much appreciated. I hope you've enjoyed this as much as I did writing it.


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